


Reflective Guises

by DoubleL27



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Queer Character, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, Gen, Growing Up, Halloween, Mentioned Johnny Rose, Mother-Son Relationship, Motherhood, POV Moira Rose, Parenthood, Pre-Canon, Queer Themes, Queer Youth, ambivalent motherhood, good and not so good parent moira rose, moira rose did her best, parent of queer child feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27150577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleL27/pseuds/DoubleL27
Summary: The only other time I've leased one of my girls is the Halloween when David was desperate to be Alanis Morissette.Moira has been avoiding David's pleas to abscond with a wig for Halloween, however, when he writes her a formal proposal, it's much harder to ignore.
Relationships: Alexis Rose & Moira Rose, David Rose & Moira Rose
Comments: 25
Kudos: 49
Collections: Schitt's Creek Trick Or Treat





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCTrickOrTreat](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCTrickOrTreat) collection. 



> Many thanks to both [redacted] and [redacted] for the encouragment, hair pets and betaing that it took to finish this work. I appreciate you so. 
> 
> To the anonymous prompter, I hope this is at least half the fic you hoped for. I loved writing it, even though the choice to run with a Moira POV had me gnashing my teeth at various points.

I, David Rose, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully care for Karen. I am requesting a retrieval and fitting at 7 AM on October 31st, 1996, styled with a middle part and softer waves than Karen normally has. She will be returned to the wig salon at 11:45 PM on October 31st. 

I understand that all damages are my fault and compensation will be taken out of my inheritance. Karen will be treated with the utmost care. She will be kept away from grubby hands and open containers. 

Karen will be the centerpiece of my costume, focused on the iconic voice of a generation, Alanis Morrissette. I have sourced the rest of the costuming on my own. Please see the attached sketches.

-David Rose


	2. Chapter 2

You could hear a pin drop in the antechamber to Moira’s boudoir while she reviewed the document in front of her. David’s handwriting was perilously tiny and incredibly messy. Moira kept having to move the page about and squint to make out anything. She was going to have to see about his handwriting grades. Maybe she would need to speak to John in regards to investing in a tutor so his writing would be legible. 

When motivated, David was capable of great assiduity. After David had exhorted to borrow her wigs to reinvent himself as Alanis Morissette for the ninth time, Moria had put him off by requesting that he present a formal request for a wig with details. Both of her children eschewed formal presentations of their thoughts in the written word. School was a chore at best. Moira had thought she slaughtered two avians with one pebble: keeping her wig safe and not having to run interference with John around David’s non-ironic female costume. She had never expected him to actually present her with a written report, sketches and a formal meeting time. 

Moira looked up from the sketches that David had carefully made to eye her progeny. “Well, this is positively sedulous.”

David glanced up through his long eyelashes from where he watched his foot swiping patterns in the floral Savonnerie carpet. His nose fit his face rather beautifully now. Moira was almost glad that John had not taken her good advice and forged ahead with the basketball court anyway. 

David sprouted like an unruly beanstalk in the past year. Apparently becoming an official teenager, or man (according to Jewish tradition), meant her bébé boy was not the same child whose bowtie she carefully tied before forgetting to double knot his shoes during The Little Mister pageant. He was no longer quite the doll of a child who let her dress him up in anything she wanted. There were many more caveats and protests these days.

Still, David enjoyed her time at the toilette, sitting beside her as she transformed into the version of herself that would leave the house. David remained the one she could count on to be beside her when John could not, attending Ladies’ Lunches and Red Carpets, or twelve hours of rehearsals. But the larger and more obstinate he became, the more Moira feared she would lose something in the connection between them. There was an odd ache Moira didn’t like to examine closely, when she thought of David becoming more like Alexis who seemingly believed the proximity of her mother to be pestilent, content to be wherever she was not.

That he even wanted to borrow her wigs was a compliment. 

David’s fascination with her outfits is nothing new, though. Long ago, there was the child who would end up in her dressing salon, pulling out shoes and sticking his tiny feet into them to wobble around. Makeup was another area of wonder, not that he particularly revels in wearing it, more interested in the ways one can use it to transform. Moira still remembers when he called her makeup “face paint.”

John read far too much into David’s love of fashion and art and his very sensitive soul. He had been worried about David ever since those days of oversized shoes and sparkly tops worn as dresses, worried about all the ways that the world might come to harm David because of who he was. It was why John leaned into ridiculous gifts like basketball courts every time David played up his masculine side. Moira knew, though, that David was neither one thing or the other really, just wholly David. 

The world would seek to harm him no matter who he was. That was how the world worked.

“Several costume changes, I see,” Moira observed, flipping through the sketches. 

David could be ambitious when he wanted to be, and often had a clear vision of what he wanted. One of her proudest achievements, as far as the family went, was that her children knew exactly who they were. They got that from John, really, the unassailable sense of self. David’s flair for the dramatic and fashion was all from her though.

“Yes,” David sucked on his lips, containing his excitement, his hands still moved wildly as he carefully explained. “Alanis utilizes costumes throughout her work and changes them regularly for effect. Some of her other videos are more popular now, but ‘You Oughta Know’ is the work that launched this album and fits with my aesthetic.”

Moira noticed David’s usage of both _utilizes_ and _aesthetic_ in David’s pitch. He was taking to her tutelage of the beauty of the English language, slowly, but taking to it. The costumes were in the current style, which was to say, mostly oversized and vaguely shapeless while baring midriff, aside from the shapeless shift dress. For herself, and nearly everyone, Moira preferred a structured look, more along the lines of the 80s and 60s, but David reveled in the current fashions. If he could live in oversized clothes forever, she suspected he would.

Moira flipped through the sketches again, landing on the one that sticks out the most. 

“This one doesn’t quite fit your aesthetic, does it?” There was a button-down shirt held on with only one button, covered with a rather pastel patchwork with bicyclists all over it, paired with a burnt orange pair of wool twill pants.

David’s aesthetic remained a great pride of hers, as his aesthetic was essentially hers. David had taken to the theory of a monochromatic palette with great understanding, and only the occasional judicious use of color for accent and mood. _This_ outfit was a monstrosity.

“I wanted to transition from a music video for school to a live performance for my evening looks,” David admitted, tilting his head and considering. “Her 1995 Hollywood concert does fit within the aesthetic, but that would require not just the loan of Karen, but also Trixie. I have the sketches upstairs.”

Moira raised a hand to her chest as if stabbed, and stopped David from fleeing the room for additional sketches. “It’s not enough that you have requested the lease of Karen for an entire day, but you would also purloin Trixie?! What would you do with my girls when they are not in use!? They require careful, climate-controlled storage, with ample care before returning to their residences.”

“I know,” David agreed earnestly, “It’s why I subbed in her looks from the MTV Video Music Awards. _You_ don’t always fit in _your_ aesthetic when you are playing a character.”

“True. True. You have received phase one of the wig care training,” Moira commented, reshuffling the papers, squinting at his formal proposal. “You will receive phase two before I allow Karen to leave the salon affixed to your head.”

Moira glanced up and caught the shot of pure glee that came over his face before he schooled it back into a bored look. “Of course, Mom.”

“How will you keep Karen from the feculent hands of those beings they call scholars?” Moira asked, spearing David with a careful look.

“She won’t be touched,” he promised, quickly.

“I see that you note that, David; however, with the predilections of the children you attend that school with, I will require elucidation.”

“Okay. I can write up the plan. It mostly involves paying Graham Waterson’s bodyguard to keep kids from touching me.”

“I’m sure if I asked Dear Samuel, he would throw in a bodyguard pro bono. He was very sweet during our run of _One Crazy Summer: The Patty Hearst Story._ ”

David dug his metaphorical heels into the carpet. “No. It’s best I just pay him myself.”

Moira pursed her lips, sucking them between her teeth. She smoothed out the frown trying to mar her brow. She was going to have to give up Karen for a day _and_ have a long talk with John about not squashing David’s particular brand of self-expression. It was not as if he ever meant to. David’s tears have always been particularly distressing to herself and John. Her stalwart sweetheart longs to protect David from ever being harmed. He cannot seem to see that when he’s trying to protect David, he’s oft trampling on David himself.

“An additional prerequisite for the lease of Karen will be a full itinerary of your locations for the holiday. I would add that to your to-do list.”

“Done.”

“How will you be arriving and departing?”

“Driver.”

“Mmm. Alright.” Moira tapped at the paper with a carefully manicured finger, creating a crisp thwack. “When you resubmit this proposal with the changes, and I approve them, the wig staff will schedule you for phase two of the training.”

David sent her a quick and brilliant smile, one that she rarely saw these days. “Thank you, Mom.” He leaned in as if to hug her and then instantly thought better of it. He snatched his pages back from her hands instead and darted off towards the door. 

Before her son could absquatulate from the room, Moira said, “Oh, and David?”

David came to a sudden halt in the door. “Yes?”

“I quite fancy your costuming design. It is firmly evocative of her pedestrian style.”

A blush graced David’s cheeks and a small grin emerged. “I’ve been following her for years, but now that she’s gotten big, won a bunch of awards, maybe people will really _get_ the costume, you know?”

“Alright. Run along, Mummy has a liquid lunch planned with Uncle Tippy.”

~*~

There was nothing like a carefully doctored coffee first thing in the morning. Moira enjoyed a bracing sip as she headed from her bedroom to her dressing closet. Noises were coming from her wig salon, which she was not due in for another hour. She had an 8:30 call time for _Happy BDay Mr. Prez,_ a modern musical retrospective of Kennedy’s mistresses, where she will play the key roles of both Marilyn Monroe and Mary Meyer. Hopefully none of the staff were coveting her wigs. 

Moira took careful strides, for fear the precious Irish coffee might slosh from the brim. 

“And then, I’m going to change into the outfit in the suitcase,” David’s voice floated out. It only came to Moira in that moment that she had promised the lease of Karen to David for All Hallow’s Eve, which today must be. Yes, she was planning to abscond with the recreation of the dazzling “Happy Birthday” number, from set to meet John’s JFK at the Rose Video Halloween party.

David stood in the middle of the salon, surrounded by all of Moira’s bébés, in a strappy black dress, organza overlaid on charmeuse, and an oversized feathered bolero jacket. His hair was covered with a wig cap.

On the floor sat the coltish figure of Alexis. A puffy, tulle skirt circled her waist and mesh gloves gripped her knees to her chest, for once bedecked in Moira’s preferred color palette. She was an anachronism in the freshly redone wig salon, resembling a young Madonna with her layers of jewelry, tank top and hair piled onto her head. Alexis reached a finger out towards Magdalena next to her.

“I would pause that cacoethes, Alexis. You remain untrained.”

Alexis’s hands quickly darted to bury in the bend in her knees. “Um, level one is, like, only good for brushing your dirty wigs, so, ew, no. And it’s not like I even touched it!”

Moira turned away from the natterings of her youngest to regard her oldest. His chin comes up just a touch, ready for her opinion. David is slowly developing the hardened shell he will require to make it in this world. His classmates would try to take him down, despite the excellence of his costuming, or perhaps because of it. Moira regrets nothing, particularly not calling the headmaster to discuss potential renovations she could pay for at the school in return for David not having a bullying story when he depopulates school today. 

Moira spread her hands wide. “David, you will ensorcell your classmates.”

David blooms but fades a little when Alexis giggles: “Eww, David!” 

Moira sent Alexis a withering glare over her shoulder. “Don’t be glaikit, Alexis. I am not about to engage in logomachy with you.”

“Whatever.”

Turning back to David, Moira remained impressed as Cynthia laid the wig over David’s head. Cynthia had such a way of making the most out of a wig. David wore it well. 

She smiled at him. “This is a very gallus costume. You’re sure you would like to advance to the schoolhouse?” 

An errant thought lodged in her head how often other students caused her protege to crumple. His wish to forge ahead with this costume was surprising. 

John had worried for weeks over what kinds of responses David would get from his classmates, about what kind of response John would get from his coworkers who had children in the school, what dangers might befall him. Moira had pointed out that whatever happened with David and his costume had nothing to do with John and his business friends. Who were they to arrest David’s muse? 

Her mother had attempted to dim her light for fear she’d burn too bright and burn out. Moira hadn’t though. She had seized her dreams and realized them, leaving her small, cramped life behind for something grand. Moira never wanted her children to feel that she was patently against them in a world already filled to the brim with cruelty.

Alexis almost never came home in tears and cared very little for others opinions. If she could mix a little bit of Alexis’s hardiness into David’s devotion, she would have the ideal child. 

“Yes!” David insisted, his hands flying up, “Alanis has had one of the longest streaks on the Billboard Top 20. She won six Juno Awards and four Grammys!”

“Alright, just don’t go off-piste today. I will be following the itinerary, and touching base with Eduardo, to know where Karen is at all times.”

“Oh my God!” Alexis howled. “I swear you love those wigs more than us. Imagine, if you followed our itineraries. You would know—”

 _Never let the bastards get you down_ was a phrase Moira had long since taken to heart, particularly in regards to your own family. She had plenty of experience with her own mother and sister. She could stand against the critiques of a ten-year old. “That’s quite enough, Alexis. Mummy has to run. I’ve got to be Marylin in two hours.” She stroked the soft curls of the wig on David’s head. ”Be safe, my love.”

“She’s talking to Karen,” Alexis sang at David.

“Lick dust!” David yelled, leaning around Moira. 

“Oh, no, dear,” Moira said, reaching out to smooth a thumb over David’s forehead. “You’ll get wrinkles if you keep making that face.” 

Both children would need a better skincare routine if they were going to continue making faces like this at each other. They had such long acting-modeling careers ahead of them, and mustn’ttruncate their means of earning a living early. Moira had been playing a mother since before she actually was one. Who knows what _Moira’s_ face would look like if her mother had started her young? 

Sara’s voice could be heard distantly calling. “Mrs. Rose! You are needed in the dressing salon.”

Time had completely slipped from her reality, and now came crashing forward. “That’s me, stage left,” she called to the children, already making her way toward the door. “Stay safe. I’ll see you to-mor-row!”

Twin groans follow her.

“We’re, like, coming to daddy’s party!”

“We will _literally_ see you tonight.”

“Yes, dears. Very good,” she murmured at the calls of her children fading away, her brain already turning toward the role she was about to embody. Moira found it best to release herself from her own life and struggles to slip into the skin of the person she was about to become. As long as Moira could remember, she’d been shedding her own skin to become others, but being malleable was a strength for an actress. 

Marilyn had no children, a string of failed marriages and entangled flings, so Moira uncoupled her mind from her own family. She needed to let go of thoughts of what might happen to David at school, Alexis’s sharp japes, the bickering of her children that floated from the salon behind her. They would be waiting for her when she was done. She tucked them safely away in the corner of her mind, as she would hope they would do to embody their characters today, and focused on her work. 

There was definitely a longing to Marilyn, a wish to be loved and respected, a dream unfulfilled.


End file.
